


Bad Penny

by irolltwenties (Shenanigans)



Series: Til the Night [6]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, I don't know man, I had an idea and it stuck, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, just let me live okay, not mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 10:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20906543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/irolltwenties
Summary: Alex was starting to think that they might get a chance at something, if not normal, at least quiet. A kid with curly black hair and an insolent glare changed all of that.





	Bad Penny

**Author's Note:**

> [Casting Notes](https://irolltwenties.tumblr.com/post/188908524097/irolltwenties-reference-oggie-jimmy-bean)

Alex has finally stopped thinking about the kitchen as his. It’s theirs now. Michael has half of the closet, half the dresser, and all of his heart. It’s cheesy, but Alex allows himself the saccharine in his own thoughts now. It’s been ten years since his father was murdered and nearly the same since Rosa’s resurrection. They’d finally settled into a semblance of domesticity after the bomb incident and Alex had thought after a year and a half of quiet that maybe their lives were going to settle into something unhunted and unhurried. (He didn’t have any delusions about normal, not after the clones three and a half years ago.) A rest, he just wants a rest where he can settle into bed with Michael and simply be. Be himself, be with him, be together, be in love.

But, there’s a sixteen year old glaring at him from behind a pile of waffles at the other side of the kitchen table. The kid has black hair in lolling curls that clutter his brow, brown eyes that can’t decide if they’re dark or light, and a familiar sarcastic smile. Alex feels like he knows this kid. He’s familiar. He can smell the kid from where he is leaning a shoulder against the doorframe between the kitchen and the bedroom. The boy’s a nearly feral hunker of bony shoulders that’s hovering protectively over the plate in a battered jacket, sweat stained shirt, ripped jeans, and duct taped converse. Alex is pretty sure he’s going to burn those clothes and toss him into a shower as soon as possible, but there was a hierarchy to priorities. Food first, then shower. 

“You can stop staring. It’s creepy.” The kid managed to fold one of the top waffles in half and then half again, spearing it with his fork and shoving the whole dripping mess into his mouth. 

“You called me, man,” Michael muttered, putting a hand on the counter top and heaving to sit next to the sink. 

“Not on purpose.”

The kid frowns darkly around a ridiculous lump of waffle stuffed into his cheek. Alex been tempted to make him real pancakes, but he was pretty sure he could count ribs and the toaster waffles were faster and practical, full of sugar and covered with butter and syrup. 

Michael leans back against the cabinet, curls catching on the wood grain. He’s studying the kid with the same look of confusion and wary distrust the boy had tossed them when Michael had shoved him into a kitchen chair. It’s startling when the realization strikes, the same jawline, the same heavy lidded eyes, the same curls, the same wicked twist of mouth. This kid is a near match for Michael at 16, but the coloring is all wrong and the cheekbones too blocked, jaw hewn with a rougher squaring and nose-

“_Shit._”

“Shit what?” Michael doesn’t look at where Alex has put it together, the line drawn tenuously from the kids curls to Michael. His husband is in a pair of jeans, a thin white cotton shirt, and the dust from the road. He’d shot up from a dead sleep, confusion pulling a headache out of him and then that specific faraway look that meant his family was talking to him or screaming for him or just needing him. Alex was almost able to tell the difference between Isobel and Max these days, but this morning was something different. Michael had pressed a hand into the covers and rolled to his feet, scrambling into a pair of jeans as he snagged his shirt from the hamper instead of a new one from the drawer. Alex hadn’t been fast enough to follow the scramble and instead started a pot of coffee and breakfast. 

Michael could take care of himself. He knew this from experience.

Alex flattened his mouth and tilted his head at Michael and could nearly feel the way the kid was matching his mannerisms flawlessly. He could feel the way they both flicked their eyebrows up at him.

“Oh _shit_.”

The kid looked between them both, pointing at Alex with the tines of his fork. “Epiphanies are best shared.”

“Who _are_ you?” Michael asked, voice a low careful wary.

“Who the fuck are _you_?” The kid snapped back, making a quick annoyed face and then shoving another whole waffle in his mouth like he was afraid they’d disappear.

“I could ju-”

“_Guerin_.” Alex shook his head slightly and Michael relaxed back against the cabinet from where he’d prickled.

“I _could_. It’d be easier.”

“True.” Alex nodded and sipped his coffee from where he’d been holding it with both hands to keep from fidgeting anxiously. “Got a name?”

“Mind your own,” the kid muttered and Alex knew that glare intimately, the smug flat sass of it and he hid the smile behind the lip of his mug. 

“Don’t remember, do you?”

The kid narrowed his eyes at where Alex was standing, still eating his weight in waffles without pause. He replied something unintelligible around the chewed bite.

“Woke up in the desert? Or somewhere else. What pulled you here?”

“Nothing pulled me here. I _chose_ it.”

“Liar.”

The kid turned and stuck his tongue out at Michael in a display of his age and Alex cleared his throat when his husband made the face right back at the kid. “Not lying. I read about it when I was hitching out in Idaho. Seemed like the right place to be. People who don’t know who they are seem to end up here.”

“So you just ended up outside the abandoned military comp-”

“I told you I didn’t fucking know that anything was there!” The kid set the fork down and the table started rattling, the cups and plates in the cabinets starting the vibrant dance of anger made tangible. 

“I believe you,” Alex said, voice quiet and low, the same soothing tone he’d used on Michael when they were teens. The kid blinked and the plates settled with a clatter back to silent.

“I just… this feels like it’s where I’m supposed to be.” The silence filled the kitchen, curling up and settling at his feet the way Wentz had when she was a puppy. The silence was fraught, full of the kind of tension he’d thought they were moving past- full of the promise of complications. The kid’s black curls were trembling, the bruises brighter on his skin. Alex could count the scars, the visible one that curled delicately over his brow and across his eyebrow and then over his cheek. He could see the ones on his skinny wrists, the cracked knuckles. This kid was lost. The boy went achingly terrified, open and wet eyed as he stared at the table top. “Don’t… don’t make me leave.” 

Michael was looking at him, he could feel it. He could feel the look on his face the same way he could feel the touch of him in the back of his mind, under his skin. “I think you found what you were looking for.”

Alex nodded once, swallowing around the way his throat went tight and held Michael’s gaze before looking back to the kid. The kid that had Michael’s curls and his eyes. The kid that shouldn’t exist. 

“Eat up. I’ll start some bacon.” He looked over at Michael. “Call Max and Iz. Hell, get the squad.”

“Can I have a waffle first?”

**

Max was staring at his palms, thumb sliding over the simple gold band on his left hand as he thought. It was a familiar look, quiet and contemplative. He’d been different since the Incident nearly nine years back, calmer and more willing to take a breath and listen to outside input. He had helped build the table that he sat at, working shoulder to shoulder while Michael swore violently at the ducktail joining and the mess of wood glue. He was starting to go gray at the temples, distinguished and handsome as he leaned forward, nodding a few times in the din that erupted at the words.

“You’re sure.” Isobel was standing, frowning at the chair seat with a regal twist to her mouth, blonde hair caught half back and draping down her back. She looked impressive and elegant in the dark high waisted jeans, polished high black riding boots, pale bone ivory blouse, and gold bangles capped with the stunning piece of topaz she’d come back from the Islands with after her honeymoon.

“As sure as I can be without medical testing,” Alex replied, arching a flat toned eyebrow at her that was met with an exasperated eye roll. “We don’t keep that sort of thing on hand.”

“Maybe we should,” Kyle muttered. He had his face in one hand, elbow propped on the table top as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced up, tilting his head at the group around the table. “What. Seems easier than having to spend the next few weeks scrambling for an answer. Liz?”

Liz shook her head where she was already pulling her hair back into a quick high ponytail, the glossy black strands catching highlights in the soft light from the kitchen pendant. “That seems overkill. It’s been years-”

“Seventeen months, two weeks, and five days,” Kyle corrected, pursing his lips and leaning back to fold his arms over his chest, the pale blue of his attending scrubs pulling slightly at the shoulder. “Or, technically, zero. Zero time since something weird and alien happened.”

“You are always so helpful,” Michael muttered, bracing both hands on the counter and tensing to shove up to sit before Alex set a hand on top of his fingers and he paused, frowning slightly before simply leaning back against the counter in an indolent line. “You try having someone scream for help in your head and ignore it.”

“I can’t even ignore a text,” Kyle answered. “I get it. I’m just wondering why we always just bring them home. Remember what happened last time? You had to completely rebuild-”

“We needed a guest room.” Alex shook his head and straightened, all eyes in the room snapping to him by rote. “This is different. The clones were sloppy, out of their minds.”

“That’s a word for it,” Michael muttered to the distinct nod from his brother and sister. 

“What is it?”

“I think he’s a hybrid.” Alex shrugged. “I’m not the science guy. That’s you guys.”

“Astrophysics isn’t really that deep into genetics. I needed Liz.”

“Should I get the whiteboard?” Kyle threaded his fingers together on the table top, tapping the side of his thumb against the wood.

Michael and Alex’s kitchen was larger since the remodel, late morning light spreading over the table. The white apron sink rubbed shoulders with the marble counter top and the newer appliances. The table was an oblong wood pedestal that could seat eight. There were two doors on either side of the refrigerator that led to a guest bathroom and a guest room that also served as Alex’s office now that the main office was covered in books and star charts, designs drawn in a careful hand now that they’d found and recovered the entire ship from the crash site storage three years back. Their bedroom was still to the North side of the cabin, but the place had slowly been fleshed out with their life instead of the trinkets of a life left behind. 

The shower was running, had been since they’d all arrived, filing into what was now the parking spots around the front field. Kyle was always the first to arrive, clapping Michael on the shoulder before hugging Alex with a smirk. Liz was always the last, running late and half in her own head. Max had tucked into the table next to his wife and shared a silent conversation with Michael and Iz.

Is this for real? he asked, the world paused around them and gone beautiful and pastel amber tinted iridescent with pink and blue.

Real as I can tell. Michael looked concerned, glancing down at the tips of his shoes before glancing at Isobel.

So, it’s possible? Isobel just kept her face neutral, watching the closed door to the bedroom before glancing back and holding Michael’s gaze.

Feels like it.

The world slipped back into real time, the conversation flowing around them as Liz and Kyle discussed the testing parameters and how they would be able to see if the same desperate degradation of cellular structure that had happened with the clones would be possible to stop this time. They didn’t pause but Michael, Isobel, and Max all stared at the door, the shower cut off with a soft hiss.

Michael tipped his head, blinking once before kicking to a stand from his lean and moved to the door. “He’s going to bolt.”

“Should I?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I got this.”

The group watched, still talking around the subject in theories and practicalities as Michael knocked two fingers to the door and waited for a muffled noise before pushing in.

The kid was dripping in a towel, frowning at the clothes laid out on the bed. Michael closed the door behind him and tilted his head. “Gonna run?”

“Thinkin’ about it real hard,” the kid answered, voice a lower timber as he frowned. He had a fresh bloom of road rash on his shoulder, older scars criss crossing themselves over his shoulder and down the line of his spine, perfect little circles that disappeared under the line of the towel at his hips. He was too thin, hungry looking and hollow eyed where he was touching the edge of the fresh cotton t-shirt and a pair of battered blue jeans.

“Well, get dressed first,” Michael suggested. “It’s not as easy to sneak around naked.”

“There’s people here.”

“Yeah. My family.” Michael tilted his head, watching the kid. “Pants help.”

“Where’re my pants?” The kid finally turned, looking at him. Michael swallowed, it was uncanny now that he knew what he was looking at. Those were Alex’s eyes, staring at him wary and hopeful. He’d never been able to look away from the open dark looks. The kid’s curls were dripping onto his shoulders, but starting to dry slightly. 

“Pretty sure Alex is going to burn them.” Michael shrugged, starting across the room and opening a drawer, giving the boy his back in a small show of trust.

“I liked those jeans.”

“Try those. We figured you’re closer to his size than mine right now.” The towel dropped behind him and he heard the kid pulling on the clothes, the soft sound of the zipper and then the mild wrestle into the shirt.

“How many?”

“Just four right now.”

“That’s a lot.”

“You have no idea, man.” Michael turned. “Got some stranger danger?”

“Shut up, I can handle myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” Michael answered, giving him an easy cocky grin to bristle against. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Why’re you being so nice to me?” 

Michael nearly choked before ducking his head and closing his eyes. He paused, blowing out a long breath around the way his chest went tight and overfull for a bright hot second. He looked up, holding that dark gaze. “People don’t always have an agenda. They can just be nice to each other.”

“Not in my experience.” 

The bedroom was quiet for a moment before Michael pulled the belt from the drawer and turned, holding it out to the kid. “Then let’s get you some more experience.”

“You know that sounds really creepy right?”

“I was trying for sincere.”

“You should work on that.”

**

Sometime after two in the morning, Alex woke up to music. He blinked against Michael’s shoulder, forehead tight against the sleep hot skin that radiated warmth against him where they were pressed together. Michael slept on his side, curled toward the window and back to Alex so that Alex could drape himself against the broad warm expanse of his back or roll away when he got too hot, kicking the covers off his foot as he wold pant at the ceiling and cool down. Summers were a sticky mess that they’d compromised on by simply getting a small window unit to blow on Alex’s side of the bed. 

Michael was a morning person, but he slept soundly now. In the beginning, it had been fretful, waking at every soft noise and creak in the floorboards, but trust and time had allowed him to slip low into the heavy puffs of breath that kept his mouth loose and hair tangled on the pillow. Alex could curl an arm around his hip, tug him close, and smile against the plane of his shoulder as he mumbled and stilled again. Alex liked the pliant softness of Michael asleep. He liked the golden warm press of his body in the dark. He liked the feel of the crackle of dark hair under his belly button against his palm.

Alex had been in love so long.

The music battered lightly against the window like moth’s wings. It was the gentle pick and strum of a guitar. Alex lifted his head, bleary eyed and half awake with a levidity mark cutting across his cheek. He ducked an absent kiss to Michael’s shoulder and turned, stretching his left foot to the floor and massaging his right knee as he blinked in the dark. Wentz wasn’t at the foot of the bed, the small staircase Michael had built the old girl tucked at the side. She as getting old, white muzzled and hazy eyed as she trundled at a slower pace in a determined line along their walks in the prairie. He considered the prosthetic for a second, frowning at it and the sock before simply reaching for the set of Lofstrand crutches and gripping the palm hold. He pushed to stand, catching his balance in three points before starting to follow the soft tickle of melody.

The song was lovely, lonely and minor key with a soft harmonic tap in the third time trill before rolling back into what sounded like an open D chording structure. It was bluesy, nearly a slide guitar sound with a muffled pick structure. Alex paused at the bedroom door, looking back at where his husband was asleep and taking a moment to find his balance on one foot, twisting into a loose t-shirt over his boxers. 

The kitchen was dark, just a small glow from a screen saver on the computer Michael always left open and facing the fridge. He had an office, but did most of his work at the kitchen table, talking out loud in strings of mathematics that Alex would just hum a quiet noise of assent at. He didn’t need to know the work to know Michael was brilliant in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend beyond the way it swelled in his heart to see him lost in the work. It was comfortable now, his genius. Alex had been grateful that his gift for languages and code had been the link to learning the ancient glyph script on the spacecraft, that he’d been shoulder to shoulder with his husband’s greatness when they’d cracked the code and watched the damaged hulk of it shimmer to life. He reached over, closing the lid and tossing the kitchen dark again, eyes adapting to the soft line of light coming from under the guest room door and through the windows in shafts of silver blue.

The crowd had left, each taking a long last look at where the kid had been staring at his fingers where they were stacked flat on the table top. Alex understood the white knuckled panic of found family. He understood the sudden overwhelm of too many questions too quickly. He’d wanted to slip between the silent and over full stares Max and Isobel were giving the kid. He wanted to get between this kid and the world and it had happened between one breath and the next. The kid had tried for cocky. He’d tried to hold his head and his chin up, face the group of people scattered around the kitchen. He’d gone sharp and petulant, sassy and scared.

“How long have you been-”

“Where is the firs-”

“Can you feel th-”

“What-”

The kid had dimmed, pulling into himself and Alex watched Michael glare at the group. He’d handed the kid a sandwich and shoved Kyle out of the way so the boy could sit.

“It’s got to be Sabretti.” Liz was shaking her head, trying to mitigate the way she was obviously staring at the kid by snagging a granola bar from the table top.

“She died, what, three years ago?” Max looked to Isobel and then to Kyle for confirmation. 

“I know, but she’s the only one that could have pulled this off.” Liz wrinkles her nose. “Bitch.”

“Not a this. I’m literally right here.” 

“Yes, bitch, got it. Doesn’t explain the kid sitting at the table right now.”

“I’m sixteen, asshole.”

“She figured it out.” Liz shrugged, talking around the way the kid was going prickly and annoyed. “It has to be her. Her assistant was the reason we had that problem three and a half years ago?” She shuddered and Max touched his tongue to his top lip, nose wrinkling in annoyed memory. “Couldn’t figure out the clo-”

“So, it’s Sabretti.”

“I couldn’t do it, not without breaking a few international laws and like nine ethics violations.” She got a distant look. “Unless, I had acc-”

“No cloning. We said no cloning,” Kyle muttered from where he’d been rubbing his eyes.

"Did we though?”

“So, it’s possible.” Isobel’s voice carried over the table and cut into the way Liz was planning things. They all turned, looking at where she was watching the kid with a blank flat look, considering.

“If one more person calls me an it I’m going to flip a table.” The boy grinned, saccharine sweet and sharp. He batted his eyelashes. “Anyone got weed?”

Later, Alex had overheard Kyle talking with Michael in soft tones, arms folded as they pretended they weren’t old friends. They always did this. They always pretended they hadn’t learned to trust one another, to count on each other, to have each others backs through years of experience. It was posturing and Alex would shake his head as Michael and Kyle would stand shoulder to shoulder and pretend. 

“He needs a name, Guerin,” Kyle muttered.

“I just call him Kid.”

“That’s fine for a cowboy, but he’s just-”

“A kid? I know, okay, Kyle? I get it.” Michael paused and wet his lips, talking to the tips of his boots. “I was thinking maybe James.” He sniffed, sucking his teeth and waited. “Jim or Jimmy for short?”

Kyle’s head snapped to the side, staring at Michael’s profile with wide eyes before he remembered himself and swallowed. Alex could see the jump in his jaw and the way he had to take a long slow breath before he bumped Michael’s shoulder softly with his own. “I’m-”

“Whatever, Valenti. Don’t start crying or anything.”

“Jimmy.” Kyle pursed his lips and nodded a few times before slanting Alex a quick look where he was sipping his coffee. “It’s perfect.”

Now, the melody moved fainter as Alex leaned near the guest room door and then louder as he eased through the living room and to the front door. The door didn’t squeak anymore, the whole house carefully maintained by a meticulous man. Alex stepped onto the porch, glancing around and finding the thread of the song. He slipped down the steps and out into a familiar path, the warm summer wind carrying the smoky sweet scent of mesquite cross the ground, the slippery silver green of sagebrush, and the sweet trill of desert flowers blooming in the moonlight. The melody warbled, caught and blown around by the breeze before settling along the creek bed. 

The old scrubby oak was still tilted half out over the water, the creek a thin trickle in the summer air. The treehouse had rotted out, fallen down in a storm seven years ago. The steps were still nailed into the trunk, mismatched and crooked. Under the splay of branches were three solid tree trunk stools that were silver smooth, weathered and well used around a fire ring that waited until the drought was over for use. Wentz hopped up from where she’d been laying on her side, tail wagging in a slow back and forth as she trotted to Alex and then back to where she’d sprawled against the kid’s feet. 

The music stopped in a clatter, the boy stilling the strings and staring at him with wild frightened eyes in the dark. In the moonlight he looked so much like Michael at seventeen, swaying nervously in the shed while he tracked where Alex was standing, where his hands were, and how to escape if he needed to.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Alex lifted one hand, waving the crutch a little and tilted his head. “You play?”

The boy’s fingers smoothed over the lacquered body like a caress and he watched Alex with dark glittering eyes. “I was going to return it.”

Alex shrugged, non committal and looked up at the sky. The breeze pushed his hair around, flattened his shirt against his front and stroked over his skin. He swallowed. “Michael stole my guitar in high school.” He shrugged. “He told me later he just wanted a reason to talk to me.”

“So you guys are like,_ together_?” 

“Like, _married_.” Alex gave the boy a soft smile and flicked his eyebrows up like a dare. “That a problem?”

“No.” He shrugged, curls fluttering in the breeze before he stroked over the frets and started playing again, fingers deft and easy with practice. “He’s an alien, though, right?”

“Yes.”

“So that makes me?”

“A kid with a guitar,” Alex answered, gesturing to the seat next to him. The boy just nodded and shifted slightly to let him pass. 

“It’s how I survived,” the kid answered, eyes closing on a sweet trickle of melody and then shivering through a small slide scale into a new bridge. He had deft fingers, picking around something beautiful and easy as Alex settled in to listen. The boy played and it was easy to imagine that they’d been the ones to teach him. It was easy to imagine that he’d been a part of their lives for longer than a day and a half. “That Kyle guy called me Jimmy.” The boy paused, smirk going crooked and heartbreaking. “Like Jimi Hendrix?”

“Sure,” Alex answered. “Like Jimi Hendrix.”

**

"Yeah, I get that.” Alex paused, glancing out the window over the kitchen sink to where he could almost see Jimmy on the front porch. The boy was tucked back against the wall, turned away from the window and cupping a phone to his ear. “Do you need me to send money?”

The coffee pot was puttering lowly, a dimpling prickle of noise that pushed the smell of fresh brew through the kitchen. Michael left it on a timer the days he left before Alex, headed out the complex to continue working on the repairs. Alex had retired just before the opportunity to become a full bird Colonel, matching his great grandfather’s rank and surpassing the rest of his family. He’d retired knowing the projects were safe, tucked away into a corner of the world, and defended from infiltration. He wanted to let Wentz out, the old girl snoring on the cooler tile of the bathroom instead of following him into the kitchen.

“I can get it. I _can_. No, it won’t be like- I _said _I could do it. _God_, have a little faith. Is she? Yeah?” Jimmy sniffed volubly and Alex could hear the way he pushed into a long pace, moving away from the window and back to the corner of the house. 

He thought about following. He thought about following and listening in to the conversation, but the boy was finally starting to relax around them. He’d caught him laughing brightly, bumping shoulders with Kyle as they played video games on the living room floor. Jimmy had looked his age, shoving and moving the controller around as he talked shit. He was smaller than Kyle, sharp features defined from hunger, but he was relaxing into the space they’d made for him. He was starting to go less sharp and wary. Alex had smiled the night he’d come to grab a glass of water and found Jimmy half in the refrigerator with arms full of leftovers and a vaguely guilty look that twirled innocently into a quick flash grin. 

Michael was always just shoving sandwiches at the kid without a word. The boy would take them just as quietly. Michael didn’t have to tell Alex what it felt like to be hungry and homeless. He didn’t have to explain why he was quietly taking Alex’s things out of the guest room and making room for them in his office. He didn’t have to explain that he was already made up on letting Jimmy stay forever.

Alex was the one who’d bought the extra food, the two pairs of new jeans, and a hoodie that would fit him. Alex was the one who bought the toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and the special curl formulated shampoo that Michael always snuck into the cart. Alex was the one who’d just quietly set a new pair of Converse next to the old.

“You _would_ tell me, right?” Jimmy’s voice was quiet, warbling on the breeze and curling huskily against the window. “Okay. No, I believe you. Put Bean on.” He sounded afraid, or worried. It was something Alex couldn’t quite define past important. “Hey Bean. Yeah, I miss you too. I already looked at train tickets. I can get there in two and a half days.” Jimmy was moving again, pacing back the way he’d come with his eyes focused on the ground in front of him as he listened to the other end of the conversation. “Get this, Bean. It doesn’t rain here. Sunny all the time. You can finally get that tan you’ve- yeah. No, I know. I promise. As soon as I’m sure.”

Alex thought about reaching out, tapping two fingers against the window. He thought about alerting the kid. He thought about a lot of things but mostly he thought about what secrets Jimmy was keeping. 

“Love you too, Bean.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://irolltwenties.tumblr.com/) if you want to flail with me. Cause that would be rad. There are way more bits of this there.
> 
> This story is a part of the Til the Night verse. Some things might not make much sense without that, but I've tried to make this part as much of a standalone as possible. Good luck. I may add more to this once I finish Ends of the Earth because a lot of this won't make sense until I understand what's going on there.
> 
> Last thing: This is [Jimmy. ](https://irolltwenties.tumblr.com/tagged/james%20guerin)


End file.
